


Circle Game

by neverevesangel



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverevesangel/pseuds/neverevesangel
Summary: House's thoughts in the wake of Andie's release from the hospital. Featuring a motorcycle and feeling stuck in life.





	Circle Game

**Author's Note:**

> Spontaneous late-night flare-up of inspiration after re-watching 2x02. Somewhat inspired by Joni Mitchell's song "The Circle Game".

He goes in circles.

Chasing his tail.

Chasing the high.

Seeking, always.

The child amazed him. Fierce. Fearless. He could have sworn the clot was pressing against her amygdala. Or that another tumor was. He would have bet on it. He would have lost.

She leaves the hospital with a radiant smile and another year of lifetime. Wilson’s words resound in his ears for the rest of the day.

_ She enjoys life more than you do. _

Yeah, right. Little girl with no life expectancy to speak of. Versus accomplished doctor high on Vicodin all day every day.

_ She stole that kiss from Chase. What have you done lately? _

No kissing, that’s for sure. Stacy evades him like the plague, like something highly contagious, unless she has no choice. Cuddy is venomous even before he gives her reason to.

_ She could outlive you. _

His mind, high on cocaine, giggles at the notion. She could. He goes out and buys a motorcycle on a whim, just to spite Wilson. Can’t let him have the last word. Can’t prove him right.

On his mad race through the city, he dodges police cars and terrified pedestrians. His mind is elsewhere. He knows the circle game is about to begin anew.

He’s had the high of solving a case. A dangerous procedure, performed successfully. A chance game, played and won.

He knows what’s next.

The fall.

The crash.

Like a punch in the guts, all air driven out of his lungs. Crawling back into his hole. The pain in his leg will flare up until Vicodin does no more than take the edge off. He’ll mix his Scotch with some Fluoxetine because he enjoys the dizziness and sleep will come easier, too.

There will be a new case of course. Eventually. Cuddy will make him work in the clinic till then, surround him with irritating, noisy, migraine-inducing morons. He loathes them. Knows it’s not the patients, really. It’s him, reeling, desperate to put his mind to work on something more complex while they drive him crazy with insufferable chatter.

That is part of the circle game, too.

Until finally, he’s presented with another drug. Tension. Emergencies.

_ Cardiac arrest. _

_ No pulse. _

_ God, she’s dying, she’s fucking dying--- _

He lives for it. Is fully in the moment. Saves the patient. Snaps at his team. It’s glorious. The best high.

Thinking beyond the next case is not an option. Like touching a heated stove. Like sticking metal into an electric outlet. The body recoils. Flinches back.  _ Not going there _ .

He speeds up, senses heightened with cocaine, the motorcycle an extension of his body. If he goes really fast, maybe he can leave it all behind. Go someplace where the high lasts forever. Until then, he’s going to enjoy the wind whipping into his face. 

And it’s sunny, too. Cancer girl was right about that.

_ You should go for a walk _ , she’d said, pressing against him in a hug that should have been awkward but somehow wasn’t. He smiles despite himself. He prefers riding. Bum leg, you see.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment!


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